


Without waking you said (not yet, not yet)

by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drunken Kissing, M/M, Morning After, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, POV Derek Hale, Pining Derek Hale, Second Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22602583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchmoxie/pseuds/dearericbittle
Summary: Derek experiences his first hangover and wakes up with Stiles in his bed. Since neither of them actually knows what they did the night before, it’s time to play detective. And no Stiles, that’s nothing like playing doctor.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 40
Kudos: 522
Collections: Sterek Valentine Week





	Without waking you said (not yet, not yet)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luvs_sterek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvs_sterek/gifts).



> Bit of a content warning:  
> A well-meaning Erica wants Derek to let loose and gets him drunk. Nothing bad happens, but Derek rightfully feels hurt about it.
> 
> For Sterek Valentine week day #7: First kiss.  
> Dedicated to luvs_sterek - happy bday!

His head is hurting. It is throbbing, aching, pounding. Every inch of his body is hurting, and he feels like someone injected wolfsbane directly into his bloodstream. 

What the hell happened last night? 

Trying to move only makes it worse, so he waits for the healing to kick in. It doesn’t, for some reason, and that’s the most terrifying thing he’s experienced since the last time someone tried to exterminate his pack.

So, like, two weeks ago. 

Beacon Hills has not calmed down one bit. 

“Stop moving,” someone groans from right next to his ear. 

“Too loud,” he growls at them in return. “Be quiet.” 

Have they been kidnapped? He can barely smell anything, not like he usually does, and his eyes feel like they’re swollen shut. Everything inside him aches, and his stomach is rolling like it’s filled to the brim with bile and black blood. 

“I’m dying,” the person complains. 

Derek wants to growl again. “Join the club.” 

If he’s still not healing, not getting better at all, he might actually have to trigger the healing somehow. But he can’t do that if there’s a stranger there that he might expose to the world of werewolves and other monsters - not if there’s another way. His mom taught him that, and he so rarely gets the chance to follow the rules she’d set out for them all. 

“Don’t be such a sourwolf,” Stiles reveals his identity. 

Of course it’s Stiles. Why wouldn’t it be Stiles? After ten long years of this, Derek should no longer be surprised that Stiles is right by his side when there’s trouble. He is rarely the cause of it these days, but he is always in the thick of it, even though he continues to be terrifyingly fragile and human, refusing to let himself get turned into a werewolf. 

And Derek’s offered. Because that’s the right thing to do. The Bite is a gift. 

“What happened?” Derek asks, trying to find a way to break a bone without Stiles noticing. 

Stiles is surprisingly mercenary in his approach to seeing the werewolves get hurt - he’s fascinated by watching them heal, and right now the last thing Derek can deal with is Stiles’ concentration face. It’s distracting to say the least, his tongue either poking out or curled behind his teeth, those amber eyes slightly scrunched up and those damn hands (those damn hands!) not moving for once. He just stares, and Derek can’t have that directed at him. 

A finger is easy to break - how do humans deal with being this fragile? Derek only had to deal with it once, for a little while, and it took him a while to keep from being scared. And then he’d leapt into the fray with new weapons - reminding himself of Stiles all the while. 

“Gross,” Stiles is huffing. “I heard that.” 

Of course he did. He’s practically on top of Derek - because now that he’s healing, his senses are starting to come back. Stiles’ stupidly lithe and lanky body is all over him, his head pillowed on Derek’s chest and a long arm slung around his waist. One of those long legs that Derek has tried so hard not to pay too much attention to is holding one of Derek’s legs hostage in a surprisingly tight grip. Stiles is clingy in his sleep. 

Derek could have happily lived his whole life without knowing that. This is the kind of torment that only his pack could have come up with - while they accept him as their Alpha, they really don’t accept his authority in any meaningful way. They mostly treat him like a big brother they love to play pranks on, and well… Once upon a time Derek had three sisters. He knows what that is like, and sometimes he aches because of how much he misses them calling him a stupid boy and tearing pages from his favorite books and forcing him to attend tea parties. 

“What happened last night?” Derek feels like Stiles should have the answer to that. 

“Party,” Stiles grunts, hiding his face in Derek’s chest. “Too much alcohol. Drunk. Sleepy.” 

Well, if even Stiles has mostly reverted back to a non-verbal state, it is too early to be awake and thinking about things. But Derek is healing faster than Stiles is, and the gaps in his memory are not coming back with the rest of his senses. 

Something is wrong. 

“Stiles,” Derek shakes him a little. “I can’t remember. This is bad.” 

When he finally lets himself open his eyes, instead of just feeling Stiles wrapped all around him like a damn octopus, he is relieved that he at least recognizes where they are. His eyesight is pretty much back to normal by now, so it’s easy to recognize his own bedroom, with its giant bookcases and otherwise sparse furniture. He doesn’t need much, doesn’t need the biggest bedroom in the pack house - though Erica has told him many times that he might need a second room just for his book collection. She smiles when she says it though. 

“No,” Stiles digs in even closer to Derek. “Can’t hear you. I’m comfy. You’re a good pillow. I’m not getting up. Five more minutes. No, ten. An hour. Three hours. I’m hungover.” 

The babbling is horrifically charming, and Derek is glad that Stiles is still half-asleep, because that way he can’t gloat at Derek smiling down at his stupid face. Stiles always gets so happy when he sees Derek doing stupid things that make Stiles describe him as ‘the softest of werewolves’. Now, Derek doesn’t want to take that away from him, but right now that soft smile on Stiles face? That might actually be the final nail in the coffin. He’ll actually die. 

How is he supposed to wake Stiles, though? He either startles awake and stumbles around like a particularly uncoordinated baby deer, or he needs an hour to recover from sleep and face the cruel, cruel world he’s awoken to. Today feels like a scenario two kind of situation. 

So he’s left to his cruelest devices. 

“Curly fries,” he whispers in Stiles’ ear. 

Derek tries to draw back in time, before the inevitable flailing starts. Of course Stiles is unpredictable, and Derek ends up getting kicked in the balls when Stiles’ knee draws up in shock. He groans as the sharp pain shoots through his body, and waits for it to recede - faster than it would for a normal human. At least there’s that. 

“You should come with a warning,” Derek huffs at Stiles. 

“And you shouldn’t lie to a poor hungover boy,” Stiles pouts at him in return, and Derek tries not to stare too much at his mouth. “What did I ever do to you, huh Derek?” 

Exist in all his damn imperfect perfection. Sometimes Derek wondered if Stiles was put on this earth to torture him with all of the things that he could never have. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if that was actually true. Stiles continues to be exactly his type and completely oblivious to the fact that Derek would not only kill and die at his request, but also bare his neck and his fragile heart to Stiles. Derek has refused to enlighten him on principle. 

And because he’s terrified of rejection. Mostly that second one, actually. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Derek feels like this is the right time to be a smartass. “Because I can’t remember what the hell happened last night. What did you do, Stiles?” 

It is still so damn easy to blame Stiles for the shenanigans he’s somehow forgotten all about - probably because Stiles and Erica are always at the forefront of any kind of shenanigans. They are the pranksters in the pack, the impish tricksters that always keep everyone on their toes and more than a little entertained. Derek wouldn’t dare to put a stop to it. 

“Sure, blame poor Stiles,” Stiles rubs at his bleary eyes with his arm completely hidden in his shirtsleeve. “After I was keeping you warm all night, I’m assuming. Because guess what, big guy? I don’t remember a damn thing either. Not after Erica poured me that third shot.” 

That’s a couple memories more than Derek has, and so he waits for Stiles to wake up a little bit more and enlighten him. Because even after the painful flailing, Stiles is still mostly on top of Derek, apparently too comfortable to risk Derek’s wrath. When really, the last thing Derek feels at Stiles’ current position is anger. 

Anger used to be his anger, and right now, he’s got nothing. Not about this, anyway. 

“I don’t even remember that,” Derek admits, and that’s when Stiles sits up straight. 

“That shouldn’t be,” he starts, and then stops. “So clearly Lydia is involved. There’s no way Erica could have dosed the alcohol by himself. Lydia’s probably the only person who could not only handle the wolfsbane, but also calculate the right dosage to get you blackout drunk.” 

Lydia’s involvement is a true surprise - she is not the kind of person to get involved in pranks, except for when they could possibly be labeled scientific experiments. While Lydia’s main focus continues to be math, she continues to be interested in making all of the sciences her bitch. Yeah, that’s a direct Stiles quote, because apparently Stiles is in his head in several different ways this not so fine morning. Would that be an effect of the wolfsba-

Fuck. 

“Wolfsbane?” 

Ah, yes, there’s that anger he couldn’t find before. 

“Of course Erica didn’t tell you,” Stiles huffs, mostly muttering to herself. “Even when I specifically told her not to essentially roofie you because you have trust issues and no one should ingest something they didn’t fucking consent to. I get that the idea of you getting drunk is probably hilarious to her, but no one’s laughing now.” 

No one  _ is _ laughing. 

It feels like a balm, the way Stiles is completely on his side about this. Derek gets that it isn’t very fun that he doesn’t ever let go, that he’s always in control even with the people he is supposedly closest to. He gets that Erica especially would like to see him let loose, drop that hard and glossy armor for a bit to be openly weird and dorky and soft. But he can’t do that in front of the whole pack, not like he can in front of… Stiles. 

His heart thumps louder in his chest, almost loud enough for even Stiles to hear. 

“Don’t worry Sourwolf,” Stiles pats his chest a little. “I’ll talk to her. It won’t happen again. She’ll grovel for a little while, until she can offer a sincere apology that’s to your satisfaction, and then she’ll have to come up with another stupid plan to get you to loosen up.” 

Stiles is good at this, at being the unofficial second and emissary. Boyd is still the official second - and he always will be, because when all else fails, Derek can always count on Boyd to keep a steady head and steady hand and keep his pack safe. And Deaton is still officially the emissary, even though he’s hardly involved with the pack - he bailed shortly after Scott’s True Alpha status got mystically revoked somehow. 

Yeah, Derek still isn’t sure how that works. He wasn’t around for that bit. 

“She can’t do this, Stiles,” Derek tries not to sound too angry. 

“I know,” Stiles just keeps touching him, and it sets Derek’s teeth on edge in the best-worst way. 

He both never wants to move again - his bed is soft and comfortable and smells of Stiles in a way that makes Derek’s dick stand up and take notice (Stiles cannot see that) - and has to get away from this as soon as he can. It feels too good, he can’t trust it, and he still doesn’t have a single memory from the night before. There has to be a reason for Stiles’ appearance in his bed beyond them both being drunk. It can’t just be a stupid drunken mistake. 

At least they both still have their clothes on - shoes off, but clothes on. 

“How about we brave the big bad world out there?” Stiles groans a little as he climbs off the bed, doing his best baby Bambi impression with his unsteady legs. “I think I can handle going downstairs if I’ve got the big, bad wolf there to protect me.” 

Derek growls at him playfully and Stiles snickers, pleased. Yeah, sure Stiles would like to play with the big, bad wolf like this. As a joke. Not when it means anything. 

“I will eat you,” Derek is tempted to let his fangs drop. 

“Promise?” Stiles’ eyes are shining with mirth. 

And that is not something that Derek can deal with, not without food, and not without his memories. Or ever, really, because apparently Stiles is trying to kill him with the damn innuendo - again. It’s happened before and will probably happen again. 

“Don’t,” Derek’s voice is actually a growl now. 

He knows that if he opens his eyes and looks at Stiles, he’ll see him pouting and trying to get his way. Even though Stiles doesn’t actually want Derek that way - chemosignals of arousal don’t mean that Stiles is actually interested. Derek’d had that supremely awkward pack talk with all of the wolves during the supremely awkward high school years. 

Scent doesn’t equal consent. He makes sure that they remember that. 

“Poor wolf baby,” Stiles sounds like he’s smiling regardless. “Come on, you big lug. I need you to growl at our pack a little - or a lot, if that’s what you want - for letting this happen. And they just don’t respect my authority like they do yours. It’s the muscles. And the fangs. I’m sure of it.” 

So he opens his eyes, because he likes seeing Stiles’ smile in the morning light, and he doesn’t get too many chances to see that these days. Because Stiles doesn’t sleep at the house much, choosing to spend the night looking after his Dad (even when the Sheriff has the night shift) or with whoever he’s dating at that point. Serial monogamy is not a stranger to Stiles, and vice versa. Derek likes to think he handles it reasonably well. 

He’s probably wrong about that, though. 

“Fine,” Derek sighs as if this is actually a hardship. 

“Thanks buddy,” Stiles holds out his hand, like Derek needs it to get up. “Sometimes the Stilinski charm just doesn’t do it. Now, Alpha powers activate and all that. Growl at the puppies.” 

Derek rolls his eyes, pointedly, and groans when that briefly makes the terrible headache return from wherever it had disappeared to when the healing kicked in. Ugh, how do humans handle hangovers? Why would they ever want to drink when this is the result? 

“Don’t sass me,” Stiles whisper-yells, still unsteady on his feet. “For that show of disrespect, you’d better be making me pancakes.” 

Stiles likes to play that card, using any kind of excuse to get Derek to provide for him in some way. And Derek likes it when Stiles plays that card, because his more feral instincts settle a bit when he can provide for Stiles - whether it’s by saving him from his own stupidity or making him food. Stiles is pack, and Derek is his Alpha. Even though Stiles rarely acknowledges that. 

“I was always going to make you pancakes,” Derek tells him, brushing past Stiles on his way down the stairs. “Now hurry up. You snooze, you lose.” 

Only when he enters the kitchen, most of the pack is already there, apparently lying in wait for him - and for Stiles. Erica cheers loudly - too loudly - at their appearance, and Isaac sniffs him pointedly, as if looking for a specific scent. He finds what he’s looking for, it seems, because his entire face relaxes and he grins happily at Stiles when he finally joins them. 

“Looks like we have two daddies now,” there is a bit more sharpness to Isaac’s grin when he turns to Erica. “They were too drunk to get it on, apparently, but definitely not too drunk to cuddle all night. Did you crawl on top of him, Stiles? Your scent is everywhere.” 

Clearly his pack is seriously forgetting about such a thing as boundaries - and they’ve also managed to get everything dead wrong. He’s only a little surprised that they’ve managed to sniff out that he spent all night cuddling with Stiles - apparently he has trained them well enough for that - but he is extremely stunned that they’ve once again managed to draw the exact wrong conclusion with the information they’ve gathered. Namely, assume that this is the kind of romantic story that has a happy ending. And it doesn’t. This is not a mutual thing. 

As far as they know, it isn’t even a one-sided thing. 

Sure, Stiles might have been interested once upon a time, in an incredibly teenage and shallow way that Derek had not been able to handle at the time. Stiles had smelled of teenage lust all the time and Derek was just so angry and trying to hide how much he was hurting. And Stiles had been so damn young, that even when Derek was impressed by his tenacity and intelligence and surprisingly wolf-like behaviors - it just didn’t matter. 

It serves him right that Stiles grew up having no interest in him. It serves him right that the pack is just rubbing it in now. It serves him right that he doesn’t even remember Stiles falling into bed with him for some drunken reason. This is not a story with a happy ending. And that’s fine. 

“Alpha so snuggly,” is Stiles’ wise remark, as he scritches at the short hairs at the back of Derek’s neck. “I just couldn’t help myself.” 

And that, that is really not helping. Stiles knows what he’s doing, that he’s purposefully giving the pack even more ammunition. He’s smirking too much for it not to be on purpose. 

“Oh, we know,” Erica looks entirely too pleased with herself. “We have photographic evidence of just how much trouble you had keeping your hands off our dear Alpha.” 

The comment echoes like the mental equivalent of a record-scratch. Because  _ what the hell _ ?

“Delete that,” Derek orders. 

“No, I wanna see,” Stiles makes grabby hands at Erica’s phone. “I’m gonna keep calling you Sourwolf until I see every single bit of evidence. I’m a detective, Derek. I need to detect.” 

Stiles isn’t actually a bad detective, which occasionally does things to Derek’s peace of mind - the competence kink has not gone away, but it also leaves him at risk of being exposed. And while he thinks he can trust Stiles enough not to reject him too publicly, it is never going to not mess with the pack. Derek will do anything to keep it from messing with the pack. 

Because he’s a good Alpha now. Sort of. 

“Stiles,” Derek sighs, because he has to at least try to convince him. 

It doesn’t work, because of course it doesn’t. This is  _ Stiles _ after all. He rarely, if ever, does anything that he does not want to do. The Sheriff can manage to influence him a little, sometimes, but usually Stiles does whatever he thinks is right. 

He doesn’t ever listen to his Alpha. Is Derek even his Alpha? Stiles doesn’t have an Alpha, doesn’t want an Alpha - he questioned Scott when he was supposedly in charge, and he’ll question anyone making the decisions, and he’ll demand to be consulted because he’s smart and good at putting puzzle pieces together and he’s damn good at the emissary thing too when he can bother to be tactful to neighboring packs. Which is rarely, lately. 

“You have to see this,” Stiles’ grin is gone as he yanks at Derek’s arm. “The pancakes will keep, though you’re definitely still making me pancakes later. But you have to see this.” 

That cannot be a good sign. There is something in those photographs - just photographs because a video would have sound and he’s not heard any of that yet - that is making Stiles carefully blank-faced and willing to risk Derek getting angry with him by attempting to manhandle him. Not that Stiles could without Derek being caught off guard, but Derek hates being pushed and pulled like this regardless. And Stiles knows that. 

“Fine,” he lets himself get pressed against Stiles’ back. 

It’s not a safe place for him to be, and he’s probably sending out a ton of chemosignals at this point - his betas are gloating about it. He calls them his betas because he is the one who turned them, it doesn’t mean that any of the others are not part of his pack. It’s just that those three, and even Jackson, when he can be bothered to visit, are his family in blood as well. And while they don’t respect him, he’d rather they not if that’s how they really feel. 

He doesn’t want to be the kind of Alpha who makes his pack submit to him. He is not suited to being a tyrant - he’s learned that much. 

“Derek,” Stiles huffs when he doesn’t immediately pay attention. 

“Hmm,” he makes a noncommittal noise and finally glances at the screen. 

And he stops, because that’s Stiles, and that’s Derek. And they’re pressed together close enough that Derek wonders if there’s even room for air to move between them. In the first shot, Derek’s face is ducked into the curve of Stiles’ neck - a place which he’s found tempting for ages now. In the second, Stiles’ long, ridiculous fingers are on Derek’s jaw as he smiles happily at Derek. And in the third, they’re kissing sloppily. 

Derek’s hand moves to his mouth without another thought. There is no echo of pressure there, nothing to show him that this kiss actually happened. He’s finally (no, not finally, not that) had his first kiss with Stiles and they were drunk and don’t remember one bit of it. 

“Sloppy work, Stiles,” Erica has to provide commentary too. 

“I can do better,” Stiles is quick to defend his honor. “Derek, tell them I’m not a bad kisser.” 

How the hell would he know when he doesn’t remember their lips touching? He has nothing to go on other than the stupidly soppy look on his face in the fourth picture, the one clearly taken just after that first kiss, and before the second. Because there was a second, apparently, just as sloppy as the first, only longer. Erica’s caught everything on camera. 

And then the video starts playing. 

“Get it, Stiles,” Kira cheers from somewhere to the side of the camera. 

On screen, Stiles and Derek continue to share sloppy kisses, grinning stupidly at each other while they go from kissing to groping as well, stumbling a little as they try to keep their balance somehow. They look giddy and drunk and really fucking happy. 

“Fucking finally,” Isaac is only half in frame, rolling his eyes at the spectacle. 

The camera shakes a little with what he assumes is Erica’s laughter. She zooms in a little more, cutting Isaac out of the picture and focusing on how Stiles’ damn hand has pulled up the back of Derek’s shirt so he can grab at the muscles of Derek’s lower back. 

“That’s enough,” Boyd’s voice is serious and cuts through the loud music somehow. “They’re drunk. I didn’t even know Derek wanted to get drunk. How much did he have?” 

The video ends with Boyd stalking towards Stiles and Derek, clearly the only one thinking clearly last night. Boyd was mostly sober - he usually is because he doesn’t see the need to dose his drinks with wolfsbane just to get drunk. He enjoys the taste of a beer sometimes, or a glass of whiskey, but he doesn’t see the need to lose himself in it. 

Not like the others. Not like Derek, involuntarily. 

“Voyeurism kink much, Erica?” Stiles is glib about it, even though Derek is close enough to feel the tension in his body. “I know Derek and I are super hot together, but this is pushing it.” 

Derek closes his eyes and wishes really hard. When he opens them again, he hasn’t magically disappeared or been swallowed up by the floor. Sometimes he really wishes for magic to like him a bit more than it does - just so he can get away from all of this. 

“I’m confiscating the evidence,” Stiles tries to play keepaway with Erica’s phone. 

He only succeeds because Derek takes it from him and doesn’t let Erica get near it. He’ll give it back to Stiles when they have a semblance of privacy again - which, looking back on those photos and that damn video, might actually be a while yet. Unless they manage to go back upstairs and hide in Derek’s room for a little while. 

It will be a whole different kind of terrifying and laying himself bare, but it’s just Stiles. It’s  _ Stiles _ , both more and less terrifying at the same time. 

“And I’m confiscating your Alpha,” Stiles announces. “We’re going back upstairs, and when we’re done, none of you will be here. Erica, we’ll talk about boundaries later.” 

The pack lets him take charge, only looking to Derek to see if he accepts it - and he does, because he really needs to get away from here, even though he’s fucking starving and he’d rather just eat his damn breakfast in peace. Though with Stiles around, and the pack under the mistaken impression that they’d somehow gotten their shit together, peace is going to be in short supply for the foreseeable future. He might not have peace ever again. 

“When Derek finally lets you out of bed,” Erica hollers smugly as Derek runs away up the stairs. 

“When I’ve had enough of him,” Stiles fires a parting shot and Derek feels it rattle his chest. “I’ll let you know. Soon.” 

He dives straight back into bed when he’s upstairs, not even waiting for Stiles. His bed reeks of it, of Stiles, of them, of  _ DerekandStiles _ , in a way that he could have gone a lifetime without knowing about. He buries his nose into his pillow and groans when Stiles closes his door behind him. Downstairs, footsteps start to move away from the kitchen and towards the exit. 

“Drunk makeouts,” Stiles just starts talking. “We’ve unlocked a new friendship level. I’m sorry, dude, I know this sucks for you. You’re a bit more discriminating than I am.” 

The only person he’s wanted to kiss for the past few years is calling himself undiscriminating because to him it doesn’t make a damn difference who he’s kissing. Stiles doesn’t care that it’s Derek, he just cares about the whys and hows. He’ll want to detect some more. 

And Derek just wants to sleep and hide and delete the evidence. 

Suddenly, he’s furious with Erica and Lydia and whoever had a hand in this. 

“It’s called having standards,” Stiles lowers his voice in a rough approximation of Derek. “Dude, I can do this banter thing on my own, but it’s a lot more fun when you participate.” 

The pillow doesn’t suffice anymore, so he pulls the blankets over his body, hoping that it will be enough of a signal for Stiles that Derek isn’t up for discussing this. It’s about fifty-fifty if Stiles listens to the signal, but at least he’s doing something other than groaning into his pillow and being dramatic about the loss of an opportunity he never had in the first place. 

Right, then. Time to move on. He can solve this little mystery with Stiles, and then he’s going to find a way to get past this. He can give Marin a call and talk it over until his feelings start to make sense again, and he will get past this. 

“I don’t like not remembering,” Derek finally manages to draw his face away from the pillow. “I know you’ve gone on benders before, but I don’t do well with this. I’m sorry if I’m not up to bantering about this. Give me a day or so, and maybe then I can laugh about it.” 

Even his bones are tired, the kind of weary that he hasn’t felt outside of a fight for his life in a long time. It’s not something that his healing can take care of - the hurt isn’t physical this time, but that doesn’t mean that there’s nothing there that needs healing. Maybe after Stiles leaves and explains to the pack that this was a stupid drunken fluke…

“I can go with it,” Stiles offers. 

At least, Derek thinks it’s an offer. Because he kind of has no idea where Stiles is going with this. If he’s even going anywhere with this. 

“What,” Derek can’t make it sound like an actual question. 

“They’re really happy,” Stiles twists the knife a bit more. “I think they’re worried about you, and your happiness. If you want me to play along while we figure out how we got here, I’m fine with that. I mean, it’s like a mission at work. I’ve done the fake dating thing before, and at least I actually know and like you. Unlike those randos at work.” 

Excellent. That sounds like an excellent idea. 

“You can’t lie to a werewolf,” Derek points out helpfully. 

“I can twist the truth around,” Stiles gets huffy when he thinks he’s being unfairly underestimated by someone in the pack. “I’ve gotten really good at it. Quantico wasn’t just athletics and Google Fu. You should know that better than anyone.” 

It’s almost a fond memory by now, that millionth time that he’d gotten accused of murdering someone and the way Stiles had almost abandoned his internship to save his ass. The way Stiles had found him, an Alpha once again, and hadn’t judged him even though he had to have known how Derek got that way. Derek still owes him for that. 

“Yes, you saved my ass,” Derek knows what he’s supposed to say here. 

“And what an ass,” Stiles flirts jokingly. “Shame I can’t remember getting my hands on it.” 

He seems so unruffled by it all, like this is the umpteenth time that he’s woken up without a significant part of his memories of the night before. Stiles seems like he’s got it all figured out, or at least like he’s figured out where they go from here. He’ll probably be able to laugh about it soon, about that time where the pack got Derek and Stiles drunk and coaxed them into making out for the cameras. Derek’s sure it would be funnier for him if he didn’t have the stupid feelings. 

“You’ll live,” Derek has mostly come out of hiding. 

“I’ll lose some sleep,” Stiles grins and then grabs the phone from where Derek has abandoned it on top of the bed. “Now, are you ready to start looking for clues?” 

Stiles is delighted, barely contained excitement as he digs through Erica’s messages to Lydia. 

Derek closes his eyes, counts to three, and pastes on a smile. 

“Ready.” 

* * *

There’s actually not much of a mystery to the whole thing, not when the entire plan is so obviously laid out in the contents of Erica’s phone. Clearly he’s going to have to step up the stealth training with her - it might even make a good punishment for her. 

Because Derek can’t just let this go, even though Erica’s good intentions are also all spelled out in all of the messages. There’s a group chat about something called ‘loosen up our Alpha, babe’, with most everyone in the pack in it. Not Boyd though. Boyd is a good guy, Boyd can stay. The others… They need another lesson in not meddling like this. 

“Right, so the timeline,” Stiles has dug up a board from somewhere, and he’s carelessly fellating a harmless pen. 

Derek may or may not be actually dying. At least they’re not in his bedroom anymore, but it’s still a lot to be spending time with Stiles like this. 

This is supposed to be a fun little romp, a case to keep them busy and distracted from the fact that other than the alcohol (and the wolfsbane) there was no excuse for them to grab at each other like that. There had been no bet or fake mistletoe (of course not, it’s February), or any other reason for them to kiss. Just too much to drink. 

“You’re a good detective,” Derek tells Stiles absentmindedly as he looks over the board again. 

“It’s nice to be appreciated,” Stiles preens and finally lets go of that damned pen. “Now, we know that Erica first conceived of the plan a month or so ago - around the holidays. She contacted Lydia in early January, and because Lydia is a fucking genius, she worked out the formula for the alcohol in a manner of days.” 

Stiles loves Lydia, still. Not in the way he had when they’d been  _ StilesandLydia _ , but there is still so much love there that Derek tries not to choke on it. Because Stiles loves so much, loves Malia still and Lydia and even Theo (really, Stiles, really?). He moves from partner to partner, and he falls in love at first sight, over the wry twist of a lip or a cocked hip or an ass bent over a pool table. And then he’s all in. 

It would be beautiful if - it is beautiful. Regardless of Derek’s personal feelings. 

“Erica came up with the excuse for the party with Isaac’s help,” Derek tries to keep Stiles talking, so that he doesn’t have to say much himself. 

A few weeks ago, Stiles showed up newly single, and unhappily so. Last week, Stiles went out to Jungle again (even after all the murders, that club has never closed down) and came back grinning and smelling of a strange male. It’s just the beginning - Derek’s seen it before. 

“Well, any excuse for a party,” Stiles shrugs, because unlike Derek, he’s a big fan of parties with the pack. “They could have called it a ‘Thank God we’re still alive’ party and I still would have shown up with bells on. It’s pack bonding, and it’s important. We need to let loose sometimes, even though I know you don’t really approve of it. Or just don’t participate.” 

Someone has to remain alert. That’s a job for the Alpha. 

“I know,” Stiles answers his own question. “You’re the Alpha now, hear you roar and all of that. Or, well, not roar, but protect your pack. And it’s admirable, but you’re wound too tight and you don’t really get laid or let loose and so the busybodies you turned into werewolves took it upon themselves to make sure that you gave it a shot. Surrounded by only people you know and feel safe around. Erica knows you better than to push you at a stranger, or do this in public. This was a private event by design. They took care of you in that respect, at least.” 

His pack has not fucked up as much as they could have, which is something. Probably, maybe, or at least, he guesses. It could have been a stranger, and that would have been both better and worse in a way. He would have hated finding out that he’d gotten this close with a stranger - and his pack knows him well enough to know that. And maybe Erica didn’t know - doesn’t know - that he has actual feelings for Stiles, and the kiss was just a byproduct of her stupid plan to get him to let loose for once. He wants to believe it’s just that. 

Still disappointing, but less so. But, they’re  _ pack _ . 

“You get to be disappointed,” Stiles is looking right through him, to the heart of him. “It’s okay if you’re mad and disappointed, and if you feel manipulated. I chose to get a little too drunk - or a lot too drunk. You didn’t. I don’t know if it makes it worse or better that we were both drunk.” 

Yeah, it’s hard to describe. If Stiles had not been drunk - even if he probably wasn’t as ridiculously drunk as Derek was in that video - he might have been taking advantage, even if he hadn’t intended to. At least this way they’re on the same level for some of this - not the feelings, but the drunkenness and the stupidity. 

“I don’t know,” Derek scoffs out a laugh. 

“Me neither,” Stiles looks at him and laughs as well. 

The tension cracks, breaks straight down the middle as they both laugh, and laugh, and laugh - until Stiles is unsteady on his legs again, throwing himself into a comfortable chair. And then he looks at Derek again and laughs again, because, well… It’s ridiculous. 

“I don’t even know if you think I’m a good kisser,” Stiles moans, complaining pettily. 

“Not your best work, I’m sure,” Derek teases, feeling stupidly magnanimous now that the tension has seeped out of the room. “That was a lot of spit. And well, I can’t remember, so you must not have been all that memorable.” 

It’s only because it’s Stiles that he can joke about this at all. And that has nothing to do with his feelings, and everything to do with the easy way in which Stiles can laugh at himself, and the way he gets stupidly offended at the idea that their kiss had not been all that memorable for Derek. His ego has been wounded, and for all that Stiles likes to claim modesty, he likes being seen and appreciated too much. And he especially likes to gloat. 

And now Derek is refusing to let him, by not even remembering. Stiles is basically pouting. 

“Asshole,” Stiles huffs, his eyes still twinkling merrily. 

“You can say the same about me,” Derek offers, trying to put them back on equal footing yet again. “If Erica asks. And you know she will. She’s Erica.” 

That makes Stiles laugh and nod, because he’s known Erica even longer than Derek has. No matter that she’d been on the periphery of his awareness for years, before she spun into sharper focus after the bite. They know her, know what she’s like and how she goes out of her way to offend people just to make sure that they don’t get too close to the still so vulnerable heart underneath. She guards it well, still. 

“Teenage me would be so sad,” Stiles mutters, and Derek tries not to outwardly respond. 

“ _ Teenage _ you?” Derek puts every bit of sarcasm he’s got left in his eyebrows, knowing that it will amuse Stiles endlessly. “You’re practically crying even now.” 

He can’t go there, to Stiles’ teenage lust, and just sit there and joke about it. Instead he’d rather make fun of Stiles now, to keep them level and able to function in the same pack. There is no use dwelling on something that had never been and would never be. 

Marin would be proud, probably. Maybe he’ll even tell her about this moment. 

“Oh, fuck you,” Stiles laughs, hardly even offended. 

Derek refuses to turn that into a joke too. He has his limits, after all. 

* * *

It takes a week or so for him to start to remember. 

Objectively, it was a terrible kiss. Awful. They were both drunk and too sloppy with it, hardly even coherent enough to discuss it beforehand. There was too much tongue and a bit of biting and it should have been enough to get him over that crush if it had happened naturally. 

So far, it hasn’t worked. 

“Stiles really laid into me,” Erica is curled in on herself, unable to look at him. “I really fucked up, Der. I know I did. I shouldn’t have waited for Stiles to make it clear to me. I had my reasons, and they were stupid and shallow and you deserve better.” 

She is not wearing makeup, and if she were still human Derek would have been able to see that she’s been crying. Right now she just smells of salty tears and enough like regret that he could probably choke on it if he chose to. Erica wanted to throw herself at his feet like the true drama queen she’s always been, and he’d rolled her eyes at her. So she curled up in the chair instead, and stared at the floor until she was ready to get the words out. 

Stiles might have reminded her of how she’d fucked up, but the apology is genuine. 

“I’ll give the recipe to you,” Erica offers, still looking at the ground, “so you can decide what to do with it. I shouldn’t have decided for you. I feel terrible, and I’ll probably feel terrible for a while. Because I should. Because I fucked up. I’m so sorry, Derek.” 

The scent of salt is even stronger now, and a few tears escape from Erica’s hooded eyes. Derek tries not to keep her from talking, tries not to interrupt her, because she has to get this off her chest and he’s having a little trouble finding the words to explain just how badly she hurt him, even though she had the right intentions. The right intentions don’t excuse her actions. 

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats it, trying to find the words that will make this right. “I got so stupidly caught up in my own shit that I forgot to think of you. You never told me about… But I know, and… You don’t ever have to tell me. I’ll never do anything like this again. I promise that I will never offer you anything you don’t want ever again. And I didn’t mean for Stiles to get caught up in it. I was just hoping you’d maybe dance a little. Shake your groove thing, and eat too much ice cream, and be a little foolish and happy. Because that’s all I want.” 

There are no words that will make this right, though. Time might - time will make it right if Derek has anything to say about this. This is not unforgivable. This is not Peter screwing him over time and time again in an attempt for more power (always more power). 

This is Erica stepping on Derek’s issues, on all of his sore spots. This is Erica not respecting his boundaries and going way too far for Derek to call it even. Not now. Not yet. He doesn’t want to lose her, and he knows that she is genuinely sorry and has learned from her mistake - but he needs time. He applauds her courage for coming here on her own, for saying this to his face instead of hiding behind technology, but… He still needs time. 

“I love you,” Erica finally looks at him. “You’re my friend. You’re my Alpha and you’re my brother and you’re my friend. I love you and I want you to be happy. I hope you can forgive me.”

He sees the sixteen year old girl he’d treated abysmally, taken advantage of her wish to be normal and healthy to put her in the middle of a war she’d had no business fighting. And his guilt for that, and for the way he’d almost gotten her killed by Deucalion, is usually enough for him to forgive her for anything - not that she’s ever gone quite this far before. She never needs to fall in line like a mindless puppet, and she doesn’t push the boundaries as much as Stiles, but… 

Too far this time. She reminds him so much of Laura, who’d have tried the same thing (or something very similar), probably, with the same good intentions. And he’d have been just as mad at her as he is at Erica. Mad and disappointed. 

“Not yet,” Derek says, helplessly. “I want to, but not yet. I need time. You really fucked up, Erica. More than you know. I accept your apology. I do. But you’re not forgiven yet. You can’t be.” 

It lands like a physical blow, he can see that. He sees her exhale, a very shaky breath from a very powerful woman. The picture of that sixteen-year-old is fading a little in his mind’s eye, and the grown woman in front of him might be equally shaky, but he trusts she has it handled. She’ll have to earn back the rest of his trust, but he has faith in her still. 

She’ll fight for it, fight to have it back, fight for her place in the pack. And eventually, she’ll win. 

“I understand,” she nods, and stands up. “I love you. I’m sorry I don’t say it more. You’re family. I’ll let you call the shots. Reach out if you want, even if it’s just to yell at me. Make Stiles yell at me if you don’t want to talk to me. He’s really good at it.” 

They share an aborted laugh, and then she steps away. Normally there’d be scenting and maybe a brief touch, but he can’t bring himself to do that this time. 

So he just watches her leave, and he stands in his empty house and tries to think of how to go from here. There are still pieces missing from that night, some that he’ll probably never get back, and he’s trying to figure out if that can be enough for him. He’s seen Stiles a couple of times since that night, and Stiles has taken to looking at him like he’s trying to put a puzzle together - and Derek is the missing piece. 

It is a look that usually lights Derek on fire from the inside, because having all of Stiles’ attention in that way is kind of ridiculously hot. Right now it just makes him a little sad, even though he knows that nothing is actually lost - things are just off right now. They’ll get back to normal. 

Just as things will get back to the status quo with Erica, they will with Stiles as well. 

They have to. 

“She did good,” Stiles walks into the room, and Derek wonders where the hell he came from. “I didn’t even have to coach her. She handled it all by herself.” 

There was no hint of Stiles’ presence, of his scent, before he just appeared. Derek wonders if he’s trying out another one of his sneaky spells, one of the few useful things that Deaton managed to teach him before he got the hell out of there. Stiles likes to keep track of his pack, and he likes to have some tricks up his sleeves. 

Derek is not surprised - even though he wasn’t expecting him to show up like this. 

“Why are you here?” Derek has to ask. 

“Because I’m remembering,” Stiles ducks his head. “Are you?” 

Oh, now that’s new. 

Over the course of the past week, he’s seen Stiles almost every day. He’s been keeping the rest of the pack at a distance, and Stiles has been acting as somewhat of a go-between. It’s all pack business, and they’re probably lucky no monsters have shown up this week, because everything is a bit of a mess. It isn’t very effective to have the Alpha not talking to his pack, but it’ll have to do for now. It does leave Derek with a lot of Stiles quality time, though. 

Too much, probably, for the sake of his sanity. 

“Bits and pieces,” Derek doesn’t want to give too much away. 

He still doesn’t quite know how they got from chatting and teasing and maybe flirting a little bit to drunkenly kissing while the pack just watched. There are several steps in the middle that he’s just… missing. He wonders if Stiles knows, but cannot let himself ask. 

There is such a thing as too much information in a case like this one. 

“It was a really bad kiss,” Stiles blurts it out. 

“It was,” Derek cannot disagree with that. 

They share a look, and then they’re laughing at each other again. Because Stiles had forced them all to watch that silly medieval musical comedy show at some point, and he remembers that damn song. He remembers that the knight and his princess had a terrible first kiss and a ton of misunderstandings about what that meant for them.

Derek is almost humming the song under his breath, and he wonders if Stiles can hear it. 

_ It was an awful kiss, kind of a total miss... _

“I think you bit me a little at some point,” Stiles is grinning. “And dude, I may have a bit of a biting thing, but this was just awkward. I think I was basically drooling in your mouth at some point. There was a lot of spit. It was not pretty.” 

Still, it is kind of disappointing to hear it, because there is still a part of him that held out hope that it had not been as bad as he’d thought. That maybe they’d manage to salvage this somehow, that they’d magically fall together again like the princess and her knight had. That maybe this was just a hurdle on the way to something better. 

But it wasn’t like that, isn’t like that. Stiles doesn’t want it to be. 

“I know,” Derek says, because it seems like Stiles wants a response from him. 

Not that he has anything to say, really. He’s not as stoic as he pretended to be when they first met, but he still talks quite a bit less when he’s feeling uncomfortable around someone. And right now, he is anything but comfortable, even though they were laughing and having fun just a little while ago. 

They’re not now. Derek is unsure and Stiles just looks… pensive. That is not a good sign. 

“I kind of want to suggest a do-over,” Stiles is actively trying to kill him. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. How you’d kiss if you were sober. What it would be like.” 

Yeah, that is wishful thinking at its finest. They’ve proven it already, they’re just not a very good match and whenever Derek gets too caught up in his feelings, he can flashback to that kiss to remind himself that they’d tried and it was terrible. He’s given second chances before, but he’s unsure if he can risk it for this one. For Stiles. For them. If there even is a them. 

“Stiles,” Derek knows his face is stony. 

“I know I’m crossing the line here,” Stiles makes a placating gesture. “But I can’t get you out of my head. Teenage me was so damn into you. You were hot and had a leather jacket and that bad boy, creature of the night thing that was kind of a bisexual awakening.” 

Is this really something that he needs to hear? 

Derek has to stop him. “Don’t.”

It is hard to hear, hard to have his suspicions confirmed in the worst way. He’d smelled it on Stiles back then, and he’d been shallow enough to preen and show off sometimes, if it got him what he wanted from Stiles. Just Stiles - that time Stiles had tried to put him on display in front of his classmate… That had been a bad moment for both of them. 

Though, looking back, Derek could kind of see the hilarity. 

Stiles still has that damn shirt. He’s seen it - the last sighting was just a few months ago, and even though the damn thing is probably falling apart… Stiles keeps it around. 

“I know, I know,” Stiles isn’t stopping, though. “You knew, because your magical werewolf nose told you, I’m sure. And it’s probably weird to talk about it after all this time.” 

Yeah, it is weird to suddenly start discussing a crush Stiles had ten years ago, but that’s really not the reason why Derek does not want to discuss it. Stiles has no idea how Derek feels, and he’s super comfortable just diving headfirst into something without even considering that they might not be as balanced in this as he thinks. Derek is halfway in love with Stiles, and Stiles? Well, he’s just a little curious. 

“It’s not that,” Derek shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. 

“Then, what is it?” Stiles has to get to the bottom of this. 

How is he supposed to explain this without revealing stupid feelings? Can he even refuse to go along with it without talking about his feelings? Stiles will probably accept a no if it’s properly motivated, but he’s never really been the kind of guy who accepts a no just by itself. 

“We’re not kissing again,” Derek says decisively. 

“But I can do better this time,” Stiles is not ready to let this go, still. “I’m not as sloppy when I’m sober. I can get references. I can call Lydia, or Malia, or… Well no, not Theo.” 

No one ever wants to hear from that guy, not ever again. At least Stiles recognizes his terrible decision-making skills now. Many, many years too late, but somehow they managed to get it through his thick skull. He finally recognizes that he can do a whole lot better than a vindictive asshole who was basically just using him. Only took him forever. 

This is the man Derek loves. Yeah, that’s just… great. 

“No need,” Derek stops him in his tracks. 

“Because you’ve decided to believe me?” Stiles teases, even though he has to know the answer by now. “Just, out of the goodness of your heart and all that. You’ve heard the tongues wagging around town - hah, that’s nice. Or even if you just want to prove yourself.” 

Stiles is gesticulating more, the way he always does when he is winding himself up, getting overly excited about something that he needs to let go already. He is in hyperfocus, fixated on this one idea that he somehow got stuck on - and even after a decade of dealing with Stiles, Derek does not have one reliable way that will get him unstuck, without tipping him off to the fact that this is not a topic that Derek wants to discuss. Ever. 

So maybe confrontation is the best approach here. 

“Why do you want to kiss me?” Derek asks, because he’s a glutton for punishment. 

And he knows that Stiles doesn’t actually have an answer. Well, curiosity seems to be his main argument - that and his ego. Even though Stiles doesn’t usually give a damn about that. He’s seen Derek at his best and his worst, and Derek has seen the best and the worst of Stiles - and he’s still ridiculously into this idiot. But that didn’t come out of nowhere. 

Not like Stiles’ interest in him has. 

“Why not?” Stiles shrugs, and Derek tries not to show how much that stings. 

“Jesus Christ, Stiles,” he sighs. “That’s not good enough. You may think that’s enough of a basis for something, but it’s not for me. I don’t do that just because.” 

Usually Stiles is understanding of Derek’s decisions, especially concerning his own personal relationships. Sure, Stiles used to say that Derek didn’t date for all of their safety, because anyone he dated was inevitably going to end up being evil. And yeah, Derek hadn’t had much luck - ever - but that was just cruel. 

He’d grown up at least a little bit since then, though. 

“You don’t do that period,” Stiles lashes out, because he’s an asshole. 

“Why are you so wound up about this?” Derek can’t manage to put the pieces together here. “I thought you were dating that one guy, that guy from Jungle. Why the interest in me?” 

No, Derek doesn’t remember his name. Maybe he will if this guy lasts longer than two or three months, which is when Stiles either tends to lose interest a little bit or goes all in on someone and wants to invite them to hang out with the pack, even though he has never been able to explain the supernatural elephant in the room. Stiles dates only humans when he’s dating outside of the pack, and sometimes Derek wonders if that’s on purpose. 

Humans would never get in the way of his bond with the pack - because they either sense the secret and give Stiles an ultimatum or end the relationship, or Stiles just cannot share a big part of his life with them and then he ends up breaking it off himself. 

There is no happily ever after with someone who can’t be a part of the pack. 

And that way Stiles is never alone, but also never really at risk. 

“He doesn’t want to date me,” Stiles is pouting. 

“That’s his right,” Derek is going for harsh but fair. 

It’s unsure if he succeeds, because he only succeeds in riling Stiles up even further, making him huff and puff and groan like he’s the big bad wolf in this tale. It’s only barely funny, but Derek is still privately a little bit amused by it. 

“I know that,” Stiles raises his hands to the sky. “And I’m not that high school loser anymore, the guy who can’t get a date. I get all the dates. I’ve dated a ton. People want to be with me, until they don’t. Because I’m weird. Because I keep secrets. Because sometimes I show up with wounds I can’t explain, or have nightmares that I can’t tell them about because they’re real. And it makes it feel like  _ they _ aren’t real. Like fighting monsters is the only thing that’s real.” 

Yeah, this is a legit Stiles crisis, and Derek is probably the worst person to be dealing with this, because his solution to this scenario is just to not bother at all, and let himself get stuck in a crush that will never go anywhere. Stiles’ solution is to keep throwing himself at that brick wall until he maybe feels a crack, no matter if he cracks his skull first. 

But if fighting monsters is the only thing that’s real, then… 

“And if you kiss a monster,” Derek finishes the thought. 

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles takes a few steps towards him. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not a monster? Is this one of those Will Turner things, where you’re like, at least once more? Because yeah, that was kinda sexy, and that was also not my point.” 

A typical Stiles redirect, and Derek is a little charmed by it, as usual. He’s happy to wait until Stiles is done wrangling his thoughts, until he figures out what it is that he was trying to say before and gives it another shot. Because while Stiles takes a lot of verbal detours, the point he eventually gets to is usually interesting. It’s one of the many stupid things Derek likes about him. 

“You’re not a monster,” Stiles repeats. 

Derek scoffs. “I am, a little bit. And that’s fine.” 

“Derek,” Stiles sighs. “That’s not why I need to kiss you.” 

Derek can be the monster if that keeps his pack safe, and keeps the people of Beacon Hills believing in mountain lion attacks while never actually being faced with the supernatural themselves. If he needs to kill a beast to save a life, he’ll do it - he’d rather be the monster than have his pack at risk. He’s no True Alpha, and he doesn’t believe that all monsters can be saved or redeemed. Maybe at some point, Derek will be the monster that needs to be put down. 

And he trusts Stiles to be the one to do it. 

But… Need? Needs to kiss him? 

“Need?” Derek gets caught up in that one word. 

There is a difference between want and need. Stiles will undoubtedly have a million words to contribute on that topic, but Derek is caught up in romance. Because need is bigger, is more, is something that isn’t just a whim. He knows it isn’t real, but he needs to know. 

“It’s not like I’ve been hiding feelings from you,” Stiles lands the first blow, and Derek’s breath gets caught in his throat. “I haven’t considered you as a potential partner, not since I was sixteen and stupid and wanted you to push me up against a wall some more so we could grind it out. And yeah, we could still do that because that idea is still hot and I’d be up for it - hah, up for it - if you are. But that’s not… You’re real. You’re real and you’ve already seen all my most embarrassing bits, and it could make sense, if we let it. We could make sense.” 

They could - there’s nothing about this that Derek hasn’t already considered in stupid dreams about what could be. He already knows that they could work, possibly. Potentially - if they both go all in and give it their best shot and not just go in half-cocked. If they go into this with the idea that it’s for real, that it could be a forever thing… It might be really good. 

And yes, sometimes he still wants to push Stiles up against the wall and leave a string of hickeys on his neck and let Stiles press blunt nails into his back. But that’s just a part of it. 

“You already trust me,” Stiles steamrolls over any objections that Derek could possibly have, “and I already trust you. So why not trust you with my heart, too? It’s not like I’m not attracted to you. Because you can probably smell that, still.” 

Actually, he hasn’t smelled it much. Sure, sometimes Stiles smells of low-level attraction around Derek, if he sees Derek shirtless or doing something that puts his physique on display. But it’s never anything overwhelming - and even then… That’s just attraction. And while that matters, it’s not everything. And saying it is would diminish everything about it. 

“Is that really your point?” Derek tries not to be disappointed. 

“I was really disappointed when our kiss wasn’t good,” Stiles’ skin is unfairly flushed and wonderfully distracting. “And then I wondered why I was disappointed, if it was just one drunken kiss, and we were never going to do it again. I thought about it a lot. I mean, clearly, it’s what I do. And I… I was disappointed because I imagined it’d be good. Because I cared about the quality of that kiss - not just because of my stupid pride, or because you’ll believe for the rest of your life that I’m a terrible kisser. It’s not… Fuck, words are hard like this.” 

Stiles isn’t making a whole lot of sense, but he’s working towards a conclusion that Derek could potentially be interested in. And he can give Stiles some more time to get there, if that’s what he needs. If that’s what they need to get somewhere. 

Derek just really wants them to get somewhere. 

“I wanted it to be good,” Stiles tries it once again. “I wanted it to be good because I wanted us to be good. I wanted us to work. I wanted this to be that moment that people talk about, like that moment that you just know that this is it. And it wasn’t, but I wanted it to be.” 

Oh. So maybe. Maybe. A little bit. Stiles wants… Maybe. Oh. 

He’s right about words being hard like this. Because it’s a complicated concept that Stiles has just tried to articulate, and maybe it’s not the romantic declaration of love that Derek had secretly hoped he’d get if Stiles ever noticed him that way… But it’s good nonetheless, because Stiles has thought about this. It’s not just a stray thought - he’s being considerate and so very Stiles about this. That stupid, terrible kiss made him see that there was a way for them. 

“Does that even make sense?” Stiles scratches at the back of his neck. 

“Somehow, it does.” 

Because it does. Because after a decade or so, Derek has learned to read between the lines when it comes to Stiles. He’s learned to avoid the loop-de-loops in his tangled-up thoughts, and learned to believe that Stiles doesn’t say something like this for shits and giggles. 

Stiles wouldn’t be saying it if he didn’t mean it. If he didn’t want it.  _ Need _ it. 

“Good,” Stiles nods. 

“You didn’t realize how much you wanted it until it wasn’t what you expected,” Derek tries to make the words make sense. “And now you’re what - offering just a do-over?” 

There are a lot of things Derek would like to have, if Stiles is willing to offer. But just a do-over, that won’t be enough, and if that is all that Stiles is offering, Derek would rather have that one terrible kiss and leave it at that. It would suck to have that be the only kiss he’d get, but he’d deal with it if the other option was being a stupid experiment. 

And yeah, in a way any first kiss is an experiment, to see if the chemistry is there… But Derek wants certainty. He wants the solidity of being sure - not the risk. 

Even if it doesn’t work like that. 

“Not _ just _ anything,” Stiles argues passionately. “I’m offering a shot. Because I want it to be that moment. I want that moment with you. Because I think I might like you a lot more than I thought I did. In a whole new way - more than a stupid teenage crush. If that’s okay with you?” 

Oh, and there’s the romance he’d stupidly been waiting for. It’s a nice speech, and Derek is trying to sort through his own tangled thoughts so that he can have the perfect response. 

“I’m a little bit in love with you,” he says instead. 

Because he’s an idiot and he believes in open communication. 

Stiles is basically gaping at him - apparently Derek’s feelings have not been obvious to anyone in the pack, especially not Stiles. He very clearly had no idea about this, and now he’s making his gaping fish face. His jaw is dropped and then he closes his mouth and opens it again, like a fish on dry land - or like a Stiles who is lost for words. 

It looks stupid, but Derek is endeared anyway. Because this is Stiles. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles actually apologizes. 

“Yeah, it’s really sucked,” Derek laughs at him, because he’s just so Stiles. “It’s fine. I wasn’t expecting anything. I’m still not. If you don’t want to risk it… It’s probably not fair for you. It’s a lot of pressure to feel the same way. And you don’t.” 

Yeah, even if there’s a chance, that still hurts to say. Because this might be a deal breaker for Stiles, and Derek will just have to deal with it if it is. The disparity is big, and it would put a lot of pressure on Stiles to catch up with Derek, or to say it before he actually feels it. And that’s really not what he wants from Stiles - he wants the truth, even when it’s not pretty. 

Eventually, he wants love. He can’t do this without love. It’s not who he is. 

“Not yet,” Stiles shrugs, ever impulsive and ready to go all in. “I think you could be very easy to love, though. If you give me some time.” 

Sometimes Stiles is all grand declarations, and tumbling in headfirst and regretting it later. And sometimes Stiles is considerate and careful and smart, and Derek just loves him and hopes he doesn’t end up regretting this too. Because this is both of those parts, impulsive and careful and so damn caring. Derek falls a little deeper just because of those words. 

Surprisingly, Stiles is actually good at this. 

“Stiles,” he says helplessly. 

“Derek,” Stiles grins, because he knows that speech clinched it for them. 

The smugness should not be attractive, but it is regardless. Sometimes Derek worries for his own sanity, at the things that appeal to him in Stiles. 

Well, there’s nothing to it now. He’s in for it now. This is the idiot he’s chosen. 

“Upstairs,” Derek orders. 

Stiles doesn’t follow orders well, and never has. “What?”

There will be no more of this going on in a public area - sure, this is his house, but the pack has never been all that great about boundaries, and he doesn’t want this to happen anywhere that other people can see and judge and take pictures. Maybe at some point he’ll be comfortable with that - he really hopes he’ll get to get to that point with Stiles - but right now he just wants some damn privacy. He wants a moment that’s just theirs. 

“This is not happening anywhere the pack could disturb us,” Derek tells him. 

“Right, right, good idea, definitely, yeah,” Stiles rambles and starts running. 

He trips over his own feet at least three times on the way there, and Derek is laughing when they finally make their way upstairs. Yes, this one. This is the one he’s chosen. 

Derek has his second first kiss with Stiles in his bedroom, far away from prying eyes. There is no one around to take pictures, well, no one but Stiles, who insists that this is the kiss that needs to be immortalized, because “this one’s real”. 

Which is why Derek doesn’t feel guilty about distracting him thoroughly, making him forget about his stupid phone for at least a couple of hours. 

(And yes, the second kiss is much better than the first. The third is even better. And by the time they hit seven, they’re really onto something.)

**Author's Note:**

> All the points if you know the band whose songs I've used for two fics now (both for Sterek valentine week). I may be obsessed.


End file.
